


you don't have to call me yours, my love

by ktlsyrtis



Category: Holby City
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, Friends to Lovers, Remix, Useless Gays in France
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-01
Packaged: 2020-11-08 16:54:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20838869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ktlsyrtis/pseuds/ktlsyrtis
Summary: Retired from the RAMC and recently divorced, Bernie goes to work at the farm of an old army friend in the south of France. She finds she enjoys a life of relative solitude, until one day she stumbles upon a woman with a broken down car on the side of the roadMaybe solitude isn't what Bernie wants after all





	you don't have to call me yours, my love

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [I will not tire of you](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15703983) by [bitheflowers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bitheflowers/pseuds/bitheflowers). 

> When I read bitheflowers utterly lovely _I will not tire of you_, I knew immediately that I had to take the idea for a spin!
> 
> Unending gratitude to Beth for pitching around outline ideas, letting me write at her, beta-ing my words, and cracking the whip when I got waaaaaaay too close to the deadline. This fic literally wouldn't exist without her! <333

The old truck bounces down a remote road, the breeze through the open window whipping strands of hair free from Bernie’s messy stub of a ponytail. Summer this year has been hotter than usual for the Rhone valley, but as the sun goes down, she thinks she can feel a crispness in the air, the first hints of autumn. 

She’s shaking a cigarette from the open pack on the seat beside her, humming along to an old song on the radio — a woman singing something about the tide — when she sees a car pulled over on the roadside ahead with the bonnet open. Tires crunching on gravel as she comes to a stop, Bernie hops out of the truck, tucking the cigarette still between her fingers behind her ear.

This close she can see wisps of steam or smoke curling up from the engine, smell an acrid chemical tang.

“Je...aider...vous?” she calls out as she makes her way around the car, face flushing as she stumbles over the language. A head pops out from behind the open bonnet and her steps stutter a bit, taken aback by the beautiful woman frowning back at her.

“Please tell me your English is better than your French,” the woman says wryly, her voice a warm husk that thrums through Bernie.

“Thankfully it is, for both our sakes.” Reaching the front wheels, Bernie peers under the hood. “Engine been growling or whining? Any intermittent smell of hot or burning rubber?”

“Define ‘intermittent’?”

“Alternator might be cactus,” Bernie mutters, almost to herself, poking and prodding at some of the connections.

“Funny, you don’t look like a mechanic.” Arms crossed over her chest, the woman quirks an elegant eyebrow. This close Bernie can see the silver threaded through the waves of her short brown hair, the creases around her eyes that speak to a life well lived. “Well, apart from the fag.”

Bernie frowns, momentarily confused, feels herself flush a bit as she fumbles the cigarette from behind her ear. “I’m definitely no mechanic, but I know enough to be dangerous.”

“Do you know a way for me to get a tow? Or at least get in touch with the weasel who rented me this lemon.” She huffs, poking at her phone. “Since I can’t seem to get a signal.”

“Cell phones are basically useless out here.” Bernie shrugs apologetically, reaching up to close the bonnet with a firm _thunk_. “I could give you a ride, if you like. Where are you staying?”

“Ah, nowhere at the moment, actually.” She continues at Bernie’s quizzical look. “I decided to play things by ear. The plan was to get to Lyon tonight and find a hotel.”

Bernie can’t hold back a wince at that. “Lyon is over three hours from here. Even if we left now it’ll be well after dark by the time we make it up there. Not to mention rooms can be scarce during the high season.”

“Wonderful.” The woman slumps against the side of the car, dragging a hand through her hair. “So much for bloody spontaneity.”

“You could stay with me.” Her eyes go wide and Bernie face floods with heat. “No, not _with_ me! I mean, at the farm. Where I live.” She gestures vaguely down the road. “It’s less than an hour from here. And then in the morning we could find you a tow and a hotel.” Internally Bernie kicks herself, knows she sounds like a complete fool. She shoves her hands in her pockets, shifting on her feet under the other woman’s appraising gaze.

“You’re not some kind of serial killer, are you?”

A laugh breaks free from Bernie, loud enough to startle a bird from a nearby hedge.

“Definitely not, I promise.” She holds out a hand. “Major Bernie Wolfe, RAMC. Well, formerly.”

“Ah, a fellow medic! What are the chances?” The woman’s hand is soft and strong in Bernie’s own, fits there like it was made to. “Serena Campbell, vascular surgeon. Also formerly.”

Serena’s smile lights up her whole face, her dark eyes sparkling in the golden light of the setting sun. It’s a moment before Bernie realizes with a start that she still has Serena’s hand clasped in her own, doesn’t quite know how long she was staring. She pulls away sharply and turns on her heel, rushes towards the boot of the car, thinks its been years since she blushed this much in such a short space of time. 

“I’ll grab your things if you want to lock up, and then we’ll be on our way.”

...

Bernie stands outside the front door, toes wiggling a bit in the dewy grass, steam curling up from the mug of tea warming her hands. Mornings like this have become a habit, a moment of peace before the day's work begins, when everything around is still and silent.

Through the half open door she hears the creak of the floorboards, cupboards opening and closing. She finds Serena in the kitchen, fussing with the kettle in a soft looking jumper, bare toes peeking out from beneath the hem of her loose trousers.

"Good morning."

Serena turns with a smile, eyes still a little sleepy and face bare of makeup.

"Morning. Hope you don't mind me helping myself," she says. "I'm useless before I've had caffeine."

"Not at all." Bernie lifts her mug in a small salute. "Did you sleep well?"

"Yes, that bed is heaven. Thank you again."

Bernie sits at the small table, watches as Serena potters about, guides her to the cabinet where the mugs are. They don't talk much, both only halfway to being awake, and Bernie's surprised at how nice it is to have someone else in her space. For all that the solitude of this place has brought her much needed peace, for the first time she realizes how lonely she's been.

Fortified with caffeine, Bernie walks Serena up the hill to the main house. The kitchen is alive with chatter, Genevive hard at work at the hob, while the other farm hands set out plates and cutlery.

"Well, what's this now? Bringing in more strays, Berenice?" A voice booms from across the room, and Bernie winces, sees Serena's eyebrow flick upward at her given name.

"Colonel Andrews, Serena Campbell. Her car broke down on the way to Lyon and I offered a place to stay until she could get a tow."

"Bill, if you please." The colonel reaches out to shake Serena's hand firmly. "We try to keep the titles to a minimum around here, but Berenice hasn't quite lost the habit."

With a grin and a wink he leads Serena to the table, introducing her to everyone. Bernie can tell she's a little overwhelmed by the boisterous welcome, remembers the feeling well from her early days here, when she was so caught up in her own pain and anger to accept compassion easily.

"So, what brings you to France?" Bill asks, once they're all settled, plates piled high with food. "Vacation?"

"Ah, something like that," Serena says with a wan smile. Bernie can't help but notice the way she pushes her eggs around her plate, making it look as if she's eating when very little actually makes it to her mouth. In the light of day Bernie can see the shadowed circles beneath Serena's eyes, the gauntness of someone who hasn't been eating properly, and she finds herself wondering what exactly brought Serena here.

As they eat their meal, Bill takes over the conversation, his unbreakable habit; tells Serena all about marrying Genevive, taking over her family's farm when he retired from the RAMC, regales her with tales of farm life, the ups and downs of learning that nature doesn't adhere to military precision, making her laugh even if the smile doesn't quite reach her eyes.

Bernie tries to focus on the food in front of her, but finds her gaze drifting back to Serena again and again, tracing her profile, the curl of her short greying hair, the creases around her mouth that speak to a time when her smiles were genuine. A cough and a raised eyebrow from Genevive stirs her to the fact that she’s being asked a question. She scrambles to grasp at any traces of the conversation. Serena complimenting the farm, wistfully wanting to stay, Bill offering her lodging...in Bernie’s cottage. 

All eyes on her, Bernie manages a small, throttled, “Yes. Of course."

"Well that's settled then!" Bill says, hands slapping on the table. "Come on then, before the day wastes away. Serena, I'm sure Genevive can find you something to wear, if you like?"

With one last glance toward Bernie, Serena follows Genevive upstairs, as the rest clean up the dishes. She can't be sure, but she's almost certain that the colonel gives her a wink as they head out the door.

...

Serena settles into the farm more easily than Bernie ever did, a natural charisma about her that draws people in. She finds a pair of baggy overalls, worn in the knees, fraying at the hems, and makes it her every day uniform. The old denim can't hide the figure beneath, or her lightly freckled arms, or the paleness of her neck, and Bernie finds her eyes lingering on her again and again.

She turns out to have a particular affinity for the animals, takes over the task of keeping them fed and watered. On her morning walk down to the fields Bernie sees her quietly soothing horses, her hands petting softly at their nickering noses, feeding them the carrots she’s taken to stashing in her pockets. Serena treats them almost like people, carries on one-sided conversations that make Bernie smile.

Somehow Bernie finds her way up to the barns at lunch each day, leaning against the fence as Serena works; chatting if she has the time, simply observing if she doesn’t. Bernie watches a goat prance behind Serena, try to push her over, watches Serena deftly catch it by the small horns, putting their heads together, the scolding tone more audible than the actual words. She looks up at Bernie’s honking laugh, a smile breaking across her lovely face.

They work together, too, raking stables, pulling down bales of hay. Serena is a willing partner, easy to work with, and they fall in step naturally, more easily than Bernie's ever gotten along with anyone before.

That same effortlessness extends to their shared living accommodations, and they quickly settle into a comfortable routine. It becomes second nature for Bernie to make two mugs of tea in the morning, one with just a splash of milk, the little noise of pleasure Serena always makes at the first sip settling in somewhere behind Bernie’s breastbone. 

Long days always seem to end with them sitting out behind the cottage, overlooking the valley, a bottle of wine between them as they talk about anything and everything. Bernie tells Serena about her time in the RAMC, her children. Even tells her about Alex, one night when everything just feels closer to the surface, and Bernie has to swallow the sudden lump in her throat at the understanding and acceptance in Serena’s smile. 

In return, Bernie hears about Serena's home, about her nephew and her friends, all the while thinking there's something missing in all of Serena's stories, a hole somewhere. Bernie learns to read when Serena is shying away from a topic, changes the subject readily, doesn’t want to push if Serena isn’t ready.

The increasingly crisp fall weather gives way unexpectedly to a string of summer hot days, all of them sweating as they work, going through water almost faster than Genevive can refill it. It’s all hands on deck as they bring in the hay, preparing for winter despite the heat, and Serena joins them in the field, helping to gather the sweet smelling fodder.

The late afternoon sun is warm and hazy as they roll the last few bales of hay together, klunky and awkward, dust flying in their noses. Serena’s worn only a vest beneath her overalls in deference to the heat, and Bernie notices the pinking of Serena's shoulders, her cheeks, even the tips of her ears where they poke out from her short crop of hair.

By the time they move the bales up to the barn, Bernie can see Serena's wincing with every movement, trying to hold the straps of the overalls away from her shoulders. But she doesn’t complain and Bernie doesn't want to presume, doesn't want to overstep.

Back at the cottage, Bernie is just opening a bottle of wine to breathe when she hears Serena’s door creak open.

“Bernie? Can I get your help?”

“Of course,” she says, setting down the just washed glasses and drying her hands. “What do you...need?”

The words die on Bernie’s tongue, her mouth gone dry at the sight of Serena standing in the doorway. She’s clearly fresh from the shower, hair still damp, a large bath towel wrapped around her torso. Suddenly Bernie doesn’t know where to look; all she can see is pale, smooth skin, shapely calves, the shadowed dip where the ends of the towel are tucked between Serena’s breasts.

“It’s this bloody sunburn,” Serena says, eyes flicking back and forth between Bernie and a spot somewhere over her shoulder. “I found some aloe in the cupboard, but I can’t lift my arms enough to get my back.”

Bernie tears her eyes away, knows she must be a hundred shades of red, tries to remind herself that she’s a surgeon, that she can be clinical about the human body. Even _this_ human body.

“Right, uh, right. Yes.” Even to her own ears her voice sounds unnaturally high. “Why don’t we…” She gestures towards the small kitchen table, has to close her eyes a moment at the sweet scent of Serena’s shampoo swirling in her wake as she walks past.

Telling herself sternly to get a grip, Bernie takes the bottle from Serena’s outstretched hand, pouring a bit of the cool, slippery gel into her palm. The burn does look uncomfortable, the skin of Serena’s neck and shoulders a dull, angry red, set off by the strips of white where the straps of Serena’s clothes offered some protection. Bernie reaches out, gently resting her hands on Serena’s shoulders, pulling back sharply when she hisses.

“No, no, it’s fine! Just cold.”

Heart racing, Bernie returns to the task. She tries to keep her touch as light as possible, can feel the head radiating from Serena’s skin as she spreads the lotion across the worst of the burn. Serena relaxes a bit, with a sigh of relief that makes Bernie’s stomach clench.

“Better?” Bernie asks, trying to stay focused on her task instead of the elegant length of Serena’s neck, the line of her collarbones.

“Much.” She drops her head forward, giving Bernie better access up to the nape of her neck. “I can’t believe I was foolish enough to forget sunscreen today of all days. It makes me think of when Elinor went to the beach with friends and she -" 

Serena breaks off, her voice catching, and Bernie tries to remember if Serena's mentioned an Elinor before, is almost certain she hasn’t. Whoever she is, Bernie can feel Serena go rigid beneath her hands, finds herself unconsciously stroking her thumbs gently along the tense muscles of her shoulders.

Bernie’s about to ask, to break the awkward silence between them, when Serena does it first.

“Elinor. My daughter. She…” Serena pauses, takes a shuddering breath. “She died, nine months ago.”

The bleak despair in her voice hits Bernie like a punch to the stomach. She thinks of her own children — of Charlotte, bright and headstrong and entirely too much like her, of Cameron, always aching for approval, always rebelling against expectation.

Like a dam has broken, words pour from Serena, about a life of too many arguments, a drug problem discovered far too late, a car accident that ended it all too soon. She rages at the unfairness of it all, at the sorrow no one around her seemed to know how to help her bear until she found herself on the verge of self destruction. Her voice is eerily calm as she describes standing on the hospital roof, a belly full of wine and anger, wondering if maybe it wouldn’t be better if she wasn’t there to keep hurting those around her.

“That’s how I ended up here,” Serena says, hands resting limply in her lap, palm up as if in supplication. “I couldn’t stay there. Not after that, after everything.”

Bernie wishes she had the words to make this better, to take some of this burden from Serena, even as she knows it’s impossible.

Bending down, ignoring the protests of her back, she rests her cheek against the crown of Serena’s head, tries to transmit strength and support through touch alone. She feels Serena’s breath hitch once, again. Tentatively, her hand comes up, slides to cover Bernie’s where it rests on the unburned patch of her shoulder, grips tight for just a moment.

They stay that way, together, as the sun sinks below the horizon.

...

Something shifts after that night. Before they may have been friends, but now they’re practically inseparable. Not a day goes by without Bernie detouring past the barn for a chat, and Serena takes to helping Genevive bring lunch down to the workers, lingers as she hands Bernie her daily meal.

They eat together, talking softly, pressed shoulder to shoulder beneath the shade of the olive trees, sneaking sun ripe grapes from the vines, the sweetness bursting across their tongues.

Their nights get longer, too. One bottle of wine turns into two, both of them reluctant to turn in. It makes the mornings harder, but Bernie finds she never regrets it. Not when her evenings are filled with soft breezes, the hum of crickets and Serena. Always Serena.

When the summer sun is especially unrelenting, the days seem long, and Bernie takes any excuse she can to find a break from the sweltering heat. Stepping into the welcome shade of the barn, Bernie can hear Serena below the hay loft, humming songs she almost recognizes.

“Serena?” She calls, sees a movement in the corner.

“Hello, you.” As always, Serena’s voice warms Bernie right to her toes, and unbidden a smile comes to her face. “I was hoping you’d stop up. Do you think you can help me with-”

Bernie sees it a moment before it happens, but she’s too slow to shout a warning, can only watch as Serena’s foot catches on the edge of a ladder that’s half hidden in a pile of hay. She sees Serena’s eyes go wide for a moment as she trips, falling to the floor with a sickening thud.

“Serena! Are you all right? Are you hurt?” Bernie rushes over, heart hammering in her chest, looks her over as Serena lays wide eyed and unnaturally still, bits of hay and alfalfa clinging to her hair and clothes “Serena?” Bernie asks again softly, and Serena blinks, finally, eyes meeting Bernie’s.

A laugh bursts out of her, high and a little hysterical at first, settling into great gasping laughs that shake her whole body. 

Relief floods through Bernie as Serena flops back in the hay, seemingly unable to do anything but laugh now that she’s started. It occurs to her that she’s never really seen Serena laugh before, certainly never this kind of explosion of pure joy, heart aching at the thought that this has been a rarity in Serena’s life of late.

Belly laughs eventually fade out to little hiccoughs, and Serena reaches out a hand. Bernie grasps it firmly and pulls her up, fast enough that Serena stumbles a bit, leans against Bernie weakly. Tears sparkle in her dark eyes, catch in the deep creases beside them, lips pulled wide in a smile that steals Bernie’s breath. For the millionth time, she gets a little lost in how beautiful Serena is, an ever-refreshing breath of fresh air, a beam of light breaking through rain clouds.

Between one moment and the next, Bernie’s lips are pressed against Serena’s, and all she can think is that they’re even softer, sweeter than she imagined.

Serena stiffens beneath her hands, a surprised gasp muffled against Bernie’s mouth. It’s enough to filter through the haze of desire shrouding Bernie’s brain and she pulls back sharply, mouth already working, trying to find some kind of apology.

Before she can form the words, Serena’s hands fumble at her shoulders, pulling her back in. Their mouth crash together, fierce and messy, hands sliding and gripping, desperate to get closer.

“Oh!”

They break apart, both a little breathless, stumble a few steps away.

“I, uh, sorry.” Genevive stands in the doorway, a basket propped on her hip, wide eyes flicking back and forth between them, and heat climbs the back of Bernie’s neck. “I’ll just...go then.”

One last glance and she disappears, leaving them alone in the unnatural quiet of the barn. 

The space between them feels like a wall, Bernie’s feet rooted into place, adrenaline and desire still thrumming beneath her skin. A part of her wants desperately to reach out, to pull Serena back against her, to kiss her again and again, and Bernie’s hand moves toward her without conscious thought.

Serena takes a half step back, hands gripped together tight enough that her knuckles are pale and stark.

“Bernie, I-” She looks terrified, eyes sliding away to the barn wall, and Bernie feels ill at the realization that Serena didn’t want this. A different kind of adrenaline courses through her, the desire she felt just moments before turning into an overwhelming impulse to _run_.

“I, I’m sorry,” Bernie stammers, tripping a bit as she backs away. “I didn’t mean...Sorry.”

Turning on her heel she flees the barn, breaking into a run as soon as she clears the door.

By the time she reaches her favorite spot by the pond, dappled in the shade of the walnut tree, her breath is coming in painful gasps, chest heaving and thighs burning. Bernie drops to the ground, head buried in her hands, mind racing. 

“Stupid, stupid coward.”

She should’ve expected this, she thinks, should’ve known she’d ruin it all. Somehow she just can’t ever leave well enough alone. Now because of her terrible judgement and a surge of hormones, she’s driven off the closest friend she’s ever had.

The snap of a branch pulls Bernie from her self recrimination, and she’s surprised to see the sun has dipped low on the horizon, the first dim stars peeking out.

“Thought I’d find you here.” Colonel Andrews lowers himself onto a nearby rock, eyeing her carefully. “Serena came to the house, rather upset.”

A fresh wave of nausea twists Bernie’s gut. 

“Of course she was,” she says bitterly, not seeing the point in pretending they’re talking about anything else. “I practically attacked her.”

“That’s not how she described it. Or Genevive, for that matter. In fact, Serena seemed to think _she’d_ done something wrong.” 

Bernie’s head snaps up, eyes wide with horror.

“She what?”

“Said something about a kiss and how clearly she was out of line, because you ran like the devil himself was at your heels.” He’s still watching her with those piercing blue eyes, and she feels like a cadet all over again. “Kept saying how sorry she was to upset you.”

Guilt rises in Bernie, and in its wake determination. No matter what else, she can’t let Serena think she’s the slightest bit at fault. Jaw clenched, she pushes to her feet.

“A word of advice, Berenice?” Bernie pauses, meets the Colonel’s knowing gaze. “Make sure you actually _listen_ to Serena. Don’t run in guns blazing before you know the details of the mission.” His eyebrows raise, meaning loaded in the furry arches, and Bernie feels her heart pound with hope.

Bernie turns over the colonel’s words in her mind on the long walk back to the cottage, thinks about that moment in the barn. Now that the edge of panic has worn away, she remembers the feel of Serena’s hands gripping her shoulders, tangling in her hair, as if she couldn’t get close enough.

Maybe, just maybe, she hasn’t ruined everything after all.

Soft light spills from the front window of the cottage, the sun long since set. Bernie stands at the door for a moment, forces a few deep, calming breaths before she walks inside.

She finds Serena curled up in her corner of the sofa, fingers twisting the pendant at the base of her neck. The look of sheer relief that crosses her face when she hears the door makes Bernie’s heart flop in her chest.

“Bernie.” She says the word so softly, like a prayer. “Are you all right? I was so worried.”

Bernie winces a bit, another tally of guilt weighing on her conscience. “I’m sorry. I just needed…” She gestures vaguely, as if somehow that can encompass all of her thoughts and fears.

“There’s no need for that.” Serena sits forward a bit, face earnest in the dim lamplight. “I’m the one who should be apologizing.”

A protest rises to Bernie’s lips, but she stops herself, the Colonel’s words coming back to her. Instead, she sits carefully on the other end of the sofa, swallows hard against the nervous butterflies swooping in her stomach, and decides to be brave.

“I, uh, I think maybe we need to talk?” She manages a wan smile, eyes squinting a bit. “About...earlier.” 

“I think you’re probably right.” Serena’s words are steady, but Bernie can see her hands twisting in her lap, thinks maybe they’re both just as nervous.

“I’m sorry I ran. It wasn’t fair to you.” Bernie worries her bottom lip between her teeth a moment, marshalls the courage to be honest. “When we-, when _I_-” She huffs in frustration. _Spit it out, Wolfe._ “I kissed you because I wanted to, and beyond that I wasn’t really thinking.”

"I can't say I was thinking much myself," Serena says with a strained chuckle. "It was a bit of a surprise."

The soft warmth of Serena's hand covering hers interrupts the spiral of Bernie's racing thoughts. She forces herself to look up, and the look in Serena's eyes takes her breath away.

"Bernie, the surprise wasn't that you kissed me." Bernie must pull a face, because Serena chuckles. "Alright, it wasn't _entirely_ that. The surprise was how much I wanted you to."

Blood rushes in Bernie's ears, her mouth working soundlessly. Serena scoots a little closer, their knees bumping softly.

"Bernie, I- I've never felt this way for a woman before. I'm not sure I've felt this way for anyone, if I'm honest." Her hand trembles a bit and Bernie instinctively turns hers over, tangles their fingers together tightly. "And yes, it's terrifying, and new. But maybe I need some new in my life."

There's still anxiousness in Serena's face, a tremor in her touch. But her eyes are steady and clear and so very brave. A wild kind of joy swoops in Bernie's stomach, thrills up her spine, and she finds herself leaning in a little closer. 

"So you wanted me to kiss you?" she asks softly, eyes lingering on the way the tip of Serena's tongue flicks out to wet her lips.

"Does this answer your question?"

Serena closes the last inches between them, and her lips are just as perfect as Bernie remembers, moving against her own like they were made for one another.

Bernie stays with her eyes closed for a long moment after Serena pulls back, can feel the smile on her lips, Serena's breath brushing against her cheek.

"I _think_ I understand," Bernie teases, returning Serena's lopsided grin. "But maybe you should clarify. Just to be sure we're on the same page.

This time there's no hesitation, no uncertainty as their lips meet again and again. Bernie moans softly as Serena's tongue flicks into her mouth, her fingers tangling in her hair.

Already Bernie wants to learn everything she can about Serena, finds she can't stop exploring now that she has permission to do so. Every inch of Serena is a feast for Bernie's senses, and before long they're necking like teenagers in the back of a car. She quickly discovers Serena's hips are a perfect fit beneath her hands, that trailing lightly along the bumps of her spine makes Serena shiver, and nipping the soft spot beneath her jaw earns a breathless gasp that makes Bernie's belly clench.

Serena seems determined to give as good as she gets, those dexterous hands everywhere, making Bernie shudder and writhe. Neither of them can get close enough, and with a growl Serena slides a leg across Bernie's thighs, settles astride her lap. She grins a little wildly, hair a mess and lips kiss swollen, so beautiful that all Bernie can do is pull her down into another fierce kiss, nipping softly at her lower lip.

She loses all sense of time, no concept of how long they’ve been on this couch. Regardless, Bernie thinks she could happily spend the rest of her life just like this. Her hands find their way beneath the soft fabric of Serena's top, tease at the warm skin of her lower back, and Serena's hips roll against her stomach. A bolt of heat spears through her and Bernie pulls away with a gasp.

"Serena..." She breaks off with a whine, Serena's fingers tugging sharply at the curls wrapped around them.

"Berenice Wolfe, if you ask me if I'm sure, I'm going to have to hurt you."

"Actually," Bernie says, nipping gently at the edge of Serena's jaw. "I was going to ask if I could take you to bed."

Somehow they make it to Bernie's bedroom without injury, a small miracle considering they can't seem to keep from touching each other more than a few seconds at a time. They fall together on the bed in a tangle of limbs, teeth knocking a bit as they jostle into a more comfortable position.

Serena ends up astride Bernie's hips once again, looking down with dark eyes, her jumper hanging off one freckled shoulder. Her breath is coming fast, but her hands are steady as she works the buttons of Bernie's shirt free from there holes, and Bernie can barely breath, lays perfectly still as if any movement will make this moment disappear into the ether.

Serena's hands skate up along her ribs, and air rushes back into Bernie's lungs with a gasp, back arching up helplessly as Serena's fingers trace the edges of her bra.

"You're so beautiful," Serena whispers, almost to herself, her touch becoming firmer, more certain. Bernie grits her teeth and lets her explore, hands clenching and releasing against Serena's thighs as she finds the places that make Bernie twitch and gasp.

It’s not long before her top and bra are discarded over the edge of the bed, and Bernie quickly evens the score, groaning at the discovery that Serena had foregone wearing anything underneath. Bernie pulls her back down, kissing her deeply, Serena’s soft curves fitting so perfectly against her own.

Serena’s hands slip lower, fumble a bit with the button on Bernie’s trousers, struggling to split her focus between undressing Bernie and kissing her senseless.

“Oh for god’s sake,” she grumbles, and Bernie can only laugh, kissing the adorable consternation from her expression.

Their fingers tangle, Bernie’s assistance likely slowing things down more than helping, but between the two of them they eventually manage the job. Serena props herself up over Bernie, thumb tracing absent circles on the ridge of her hip that all ready have Bernie struggling to not squirm.

“You will tell me,” Serena asks, “if I’m doing anything wrong? If, if there’s anything you need.”

The uncertainty in her voice tugs at Bernie’s heart. She reaches up to cup Serena’s cheek, thrilling at the way she nuzzles into the touch.

“You’re perfect, Serena. Besides.” Gazes locked, she lifts Serena’s hand from her hip and moves it the last few inches, groaning softly as Serena’s fingers slide against her. “I don’t think you’re going to have to work very hard.”

She doesn’t have to work hard at all, in the end. The fact that it’s Serena pressed so close to her, Serena’s hands on her, _in_ her, has Bernie halfway there. Still, Serena’s a quick study, and it’s not long before she finds a rhythm that has Bernie panting, her blunt nails biting into Serena’s back as she comes and comes, shouting hoarsely into the darkened room.

It’s a long minute before her vision clears, her chest still heaving as she blinks up at Serena a little blearily. Serena looks every inch like the cat who ate the canary, and Bernie thinks she probably shouldn’t find a smug Serena Campbell quite that sexy. She quirks an eyebrow holding Bernie’s gaze as she lifts a glistening finger to her mouth, tongue flicking out as she sucks it clean.

Growling out a curse, Bernie levers her hips, rolls Serena beneath her, swallows her delighted laugh and moans at the taste of herself on Serena’s tongue.

Moving lower, she kisses and licks her way across the landscape of Serena’s neck and chest, catches a peaked nipple between her lips. Bernie quickly learns that Serena likes a little pressure, the judicious application of teeth, and she puts that knowledge to good use in reducing Serena to a writhing, whimpering mess.

She pushes the trousers down Serena’s hips, following the trail of her hands with her mouth. Curling her fingers beneath the edge of her knickers, Bernie drags them low enough that Serena’s can kick them off the rest of the way. The scent of Serena’s arousal overwhelms her and Bernie muffles a moan against the soft swell of Serena’s thigh.

Hands scrabble against her shoulders, and Bernie raises her head. Serena looking down and her with such wonder, such tenderness, Bernie can only hope she’ll be worthy of it.

“Come up here,” Serena whispers breathlessly. “Please.”

This time their kiss is slow and sweet, punctuated by a gasp as Bernie slides two fingers into Serena, thumb coming up to put delicious pressure on her clit. They rock together, hardly moving, mouths pressed tight as they share their very breath.

Eventually Serena tears away, arching her head back against the pillow with a cry, and Bernie watches in wonder as she falls apart, clinging to Bernie like the only port in a stormy sea.

Bernie’s never been much for cuddling, always felt too gangly to be comfortable, trapped in an embrace. In this moment, she finds the thought of any space at all between them too much. Shifting to a more comfortable spot, she settles Serena against her shoulder, pressing a soft kiss to her hair.

“Thank you,” Serena murmurs into the hollow of Bernie’s neck, exhaustion slurring her words. 

Bernie doesn’t know how to respond, how to feel, thinks it’s fate that they met that day, fate that made Serena’s car break down, fate that brought them together. However it happened, she’s just as thankful for Serena, warm in her arms.

They fall asleep, curled together, wrapped up tight. And in the morning, the rosy sunrise filtering into the top floor of the cottage, they wake, with shy smiles and pleasurable aches. Together, they go to work.


End file.
